


Nox the Vampire

by Nekhs



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Better Vampires - mod, Brainwashing, Castle Volkihar (Elder Scrolls), Diary/Journal, F/M, Legacy of the Dragonborn - mod, Modded Skyrim, POV First Person, Slow Burn, Thief, Thieves Guild Questline (Elder Scrolls), Vampires, apostate Bosmer, street rat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:27:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 20,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27547588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekhs/pseuds/Nekhs
Summary: A young Bosmer thief crosses the border to Skyrim, searching for her lost brother.She's captured by vampires and things promptly go sideways from there.
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Lucien Flavius
Comments: 72
Kudos: 11





	1. Captured by Vampires

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!
> 
> This story is an AU of my Bosmer from "Nox and the Vampire Hunt," diverging at Bloodlet Throne.
> 
> Things go a little bit worse for her, but then keep going; I lost the save for Nox and the Vampire Hunt.

**\---Last Seed, 17th, 4E 201---**

  
My name is Nox, and I am a fool.

Crossing the border into Skyrim was easy enough; it's barely guarded and the guards don't seem to actually care about guarding anything.

It's the cold that will get you. Or the wildlife. Or the vampires.

Gods, how could I have been so stupid?

I came here to look for my brother, Ronthil. He's - well. He has this thing, he falls head-over-heels at the slightest provocation, and he's a people-pleaser, besides. The vampire probably didn't even have to do anything for my brother to fall madly in love with him ... anyway, that's the problem.

My brother fell madly in love with a vampire, left a note saying not to follow him, and left for Skyrim. So I'm here to track him down and bring him to his senses - by force, if I have to.

I met a woman named Angi, and we hit it off well enough. When I told her what I was here for, she said she did know of a vampire lair nearby. She puts out traps to dissuade the fiends - somehow, I doubt they'd be so easily deterred.

What do I know, anyway?

I'm the idiot who got caught.

The cage has no lock on it; it doesn't need one. My new master has put some kind of a charm on me, so if I even think about escape, I start feeling faint and woozy. I've got more-or-less free run of the place, but if I actually leave (I tried) I'll wind up facefirst in the snow, and dragged back by my ankle, if the rest of me is any judge.

I'm not entirely clear on the middle part. I passed out. His will was just too much for me, apparently.

* * *

**\---Last Seed, 18th, 4E 201---**

  
Master had me dress up for him.

The clothes he gave me are ... ashy, and I get the feeling that someone - or something - died in them, but it's better than the rags I'd been given when I was first captured. It almost felt decent - 

\- until I saw how he was looking at me, how he made me turn around for him, how he devoured me with his eyes.

And then the bite. Gods help me, the bite.

It felt amazing, better than anything I'd ever felt before, like the highest high, centered on my throat and burning through my body.

And then I came down, and I felt hollow, empty, and cold.

There's no fighting them, but Gods, I want to try.

* * *

**\---Last Seed, 19th, 4E 201---**

  
Today, they had me get drunk.

Really drunk, so drunk I couldn't see straight, and then they all took turns with me, feeding on me, petting my hair, complimenting me.

It felt amazing, like a little slice of the heavens, and a part of me still wants to curl up next to one of them and hope it never ends - and the rest of me is appalled. It shouldn't be that enticing.

My name is Nox. I'm a person, not a pet. One day, I will be free.

I have to believe I will be free.

* * *

**\---Last Seed, 20th, 4E 201---**

  
They pit me against some kind of - fleshy zombie, with glowing blue eyes.

It's not the first time I've faced off against the walking dead, but it was still awful, especially given I don't really use crossbows.

Apparently they'd scavenged the weapon from some intruders from a group called the 'Dawnguard,' which they refer to as a group of zealots bent on vampire destruction. More power to these 'Dawnguard' fellows, I'd say.

If intruders come, I'm told that I'm going to need to face them in combat. 

Like hells. I might be everyone's favorite snack, but I've never been some great warrior, and I'm not getting paid for this. I'm barely being fed!


	2. Lucien

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nox meets Lucien.

**\---Last Seed, 21st, 4E 201---**

  
This morning, before I'd even opened my eyes, I knew something had changed.

The fog over my mind had lifted, and I knew I was free .... provided I could escape the old fortress.

It was shockingly easy. The bastards assumed I was under their control, and the guards were all too busy ensuring nothing got in to worry about anyone leaving. The magic was supposed to take care of that.

I didn't take too long to wonder at my good fortune, but I should have.

Did they just - let me go?

I don't imagine they'd continue to feed off one of their own, and between the new fangs and the gnawing hunger in the pit of my stomach, I have to conclude that's what happened to me.

They got greedy, sloppy. They gave me their gift, their curse. Honestly, I can't even remember if I asked for it, if I asked them to stop.

My memory gets sort of hazy every time I think about it too hard.

Mostly I just remember how good it felt.

Gods help me.

I made my way back to Angi's camp, and it was a relief to see her, safe and sound. She seemed relieved to see me, too.

Then she noticed. She saw.

'Get away from me, you monster!'

She's right. Gods help me, she's right, I'm like they were. I could smell her, hear her heartbeat singing in my ears, and I wanted to feed - it was as much my own horror as her nocked arrow that saw me running away from her.

It's all right. I'm all right. I fed on a bandit earlier. Gods, why am I so hungry?

Anyway, it's not like I'm unused to hunger. I grew up on the streets; I couldn't always be sure where my next meal was coming from.

In a way, then, nothing's changed.

I managed to make it to the nearest town, and against my better judgement, a young man has decided to follow me. His name is Lucien Flavius, and he's adorable. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a little taller than me - anyway, he's pretty. I found myself saying yes before my good sense could kick in.

See, he wanted to tag along with a proper adventurer, which apparently makes me a proper adventurer (who knew?) - someone dangerous-looking - anyway.

So I've got a tagalong, and I'm wondering just how long it takes him to realize what I am. How long I've got until he either runs screaming, or tries to kill me.

Gods. I'm an idiot.

How long do I have until I eat him?

Gods, if you're listening, if you're paying even an ounce of attention, spare him from me, because I'm not sure I can do it myself.

* * *

**\---Last Seed, 23rd, 4E 201---**

  
So Lucien was looking for adventure, and I was looking for coin.

Yes, he says he'll pay me more for anything 'useful' we happen to come across, but until then, I still need to put a roof over my head and ...

Well, I guess that's the main thing I need coin for these days. It's not like I eat.

So most of the posted jobs were to take us to Riften, and that seemed fair enough, if a bit of a journey.

Then, we arrived at Helgen.

The scent is what's stuck with me, I think. It smelled kind of like - like a barbecue, cooked meat and smoldering ruins. Meat, like people are food - gods. But it's true, it smelled delicious, in an absolutely horrible sort of way.

Maybe a bit over-cooked; many of the bodies disintegrated to ashes at the slightest touch. But still.

Anyway, we had just made it into town when we saw the cause of the devastation: a huge, black-winged form swooped down from overhead, then took off in a rush of black scales. I barely caught a glimpse of it, but Lucien identified it for what it was: a dragon.

There weren't much for survivors, though we did find one fellow, an Imperial by the name of Hadvar. He was grateful for the assistance.

Would he still be singing my praises if he knew how badly I'd wanted to drain what little blood was left in his body?

But no. I didn't. I refrained. I can do this.

I don't have to be a monster. I don't have to see fear in Lucien's eyes.

Gods help me.

We got Hadvar back to his home, a small town called Riverwood, where his uncle, the local blacksmith, told us that we needed to get word to Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun. 

(Jarls are apparently like Counts, they run the bigger cities in Skyrim in the same kind of way. It's pronounced Yarl, but with a J. I didn't decide this, it's a nordic thing.)

So we made the trip to Whiterun as night fell.

You know, at first I was certain that I'd burn to ashes in the sunlight, but it only leaves me a bit lethargic. By comparison, I feel more - myself - at night.

I didn't tell Lucien that. He's probably got reason enough to suspect me ....

Anyway, the Jarl was accommodating enough; we were able to get an audience despite the tension in town, particularly when we announced that we were here with word of the dragons. Everyone wanted to listen, then.

Tomorrow, I'm to head back to Riverwood. Jarl Balgruuf has a job for me locally; he needs someone to fetch an ancient stone tablet from an old ruin for his court wizard to examine. Apparently it's a map to the burial sites of the long-dead dragons, and that will - somehow - help with Farengar's investigation into the dragons.

Hopefully, I get paid for this. 

Scholarly work aside, Lucien at least needs to eat!

* * *

**\---Last Seed, 23rd, 4E 201---**

  
It's raining, it's pouring, it's miserable outside and we're stopping over at the Sleeping Giant.

Apparently the innkeeper's out, but I persuaded Orgnar, the barman, to let us stay the night anyway, so Lucien and I can get some shut-eye.

The barrow wasn't so bad. I've faced down worse in the Ayleid ruins back home.

I suppose I've always been a little bit adventure-y. Something of an adventurer. Whatever; welkynd stones are good money to magi, and you can still pry some of those out of the old ruins.

In this case, we found mostly more of those 'draugr,' the dried up zombies with muscle clinging to their bones. 

I'm sure they're damned lethal if they get a chance to attack, but ... well.

Headshots kill anything if you do it right. Snapping the thing's neck seems to work even with these northern zombies, so I'll keep that in mind, and they do use their eyes to see. 

I'm just glad we didn't run into any incorporeal undead; I'm fresh out of silver.

Lucien seems impressed with me. 

So far I've passed off my newfound preference for undercooked meat as a bosmer thing, and I've managed to keep from feeding in front of him ... it's difficult.

I'm hungry all the time, and the only thing that will sate it is blood.

But it's not the first time I've gone hungry. It won't be the last. I won't be a monster just because of what I am.

I won't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure this won't end poorly.


	3. Sinding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nox joins a hunt.

**\---Last Seed, 24th, 4E 201---**

  
Today a courier caught up to me with a strange letter.

I hadn't thought I'd made much of a name for myself yet, but someone - who 'can't afford to be seen involved with' rumors of vampire activity - wants me to investigate an abandoned vampire den for them.

I have to say I'm curious.

What if it's my old master, come to bring me home?

Gods, I hope not. It's a possibility I can't ignore, but at the same time, I need to know more.

I need to find out where Ronthil is, and quickly. For all I know, he's already been fed on and discarded - no. I have to believe he's alive and well, even if he is something of an idiot.

There are a lot of strange people on the roads of Skyrim. Surely one of them will have heard of him.

For example: there was a young woman, a necromancer, on the road - she had summoned several skeletons as part of an 'art piece' called the Dance of Bones. Apparently, her pieces are given some measure of free will - they will not dance because it's asked of them, nor will they fight because they're attacked.

It was intriguing, though Lucien had a different word for it: disturbing.

He has a point. I'm surprised her little gallery has lasted as long as it has, with the way Skyrim's people act about magic in general. 

* * *

**\---Last Seed, 26th, 4E 201---**

  
It's getting harder to hide what I am from Lucien, and I think he's beginning to suspect something is wrong.

Gods.

So the note panned out - interestingly.

The dens weren't quite abandoned - the old owner had left thralls in cages, among other things - but they were near enough to abandoned that I could clear them out with no real difficulty.

I freed the thralls. Maybe they'll have better luck escaping their masters' will than I did.

Apparently, these dens were owned by a woman named Tamara, who was researching ways to minimize the weaknesses of vampire kind. There was a particularly amazing set of armor in the first den, enchanted to be wholly inflammable. The other had a bow - 

Whoever has sent me to investigate these dens will have to fight me for this bow. They'll lose. I have the bow.

It's carved out of pure ebony, and enchanted with the souls of bloodthirsty cave bats, such that when an arrow is loosed from it, the bow enchants the arrow, and the arrow - on striking an enemy - summons a flock of bats to tear at the victim's flesh.

Morbid, but useful. Even with the enchantment depleted, though, it'd still be a fine ebony bow; that alone is the sort of tool one sees only rarely, if ever.

A part of me wants to go back to my old master and see how he likes being shot in the face with such a weapon - but the rest of me still has a certain sense of self-preservation. I .... I'll admit that I'm still afraid of going back there. 

What can I say? I don't want to even think about what happened, much less relive it.

There's one other matter, and it's something that I mean to look into tomorrow.

A couple were burying their child today. I offered my condolences, and asked them who could have done such a thing. The girl wasn't even ten years old yet.

It turns out, there is a man by the name of Sinding, who is cursed twice over. He's a werewolf, which is bad enough on its own, but moreover, he had stolen the Ring of Hircine, which forced him to transform at random. He lost control - and tore open the girl.

I can't blame him, not really. I know what it's like to have a monster inside of you, one that's only barely under control.

Lucien asked me why I agreed to help Sinding so readily. Wasn't I afraid that the curse would overwhelm me?

I told him that Sinding was a man who needed help - more than most, even, because he wasn't in much of a position to help himself. What kind of person would I be to deny him? 

Sinding said that we could find the spirit of the hunt just west of Falkreath, and when we killed the great stag, its master, Hircine, appeared before us.

I've never been in the presence of a god before.

The lord of the hunt refused to cleanse the ring of its curse until we participated in the hunt. Hircine has called for Sinding's death, and apparently there are quite a number of hunters poised to answer the call. At the very least, I feel obligated to warn the man.

* * *

**\---Last Seed, 27th, 4E 201---**

  
We joined the hunt, after a fashion; after warning Sinding, there was nothing for it but to help him dispatch the other hunters.

Gods, there was blood everywhere. I'm starving ...

Anyway, uh. 

So we killed the other hunters, and Hircine appeared before me. He cleansed the ring of the curse, and said that I amused him with my work.

Lucien doesn't like it, really. There's no really good option here - betraying a man I've shown kindness, skinning him? No, that's - no.

Killing the other hunters seemed the easier path, but it's not much better. They were daedra worshippers all, but that doesn't make someone inherently bad, does it? I don't know.

I don't like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else feel like Sinding is a plant by Hircine to influence the Last Dragonborn?


	4. Coldhaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nox is protective of Lucien.

**\---Last Seed, 27th, 4E 201---**

Oh gods.

Oh gods, but I don't know what to think.

Today was the Harvest Festival, and as such it's a good excuse to get blackout drunk and chase a goat around to tie a ribbon to it and all -

It was fun. I didn't get as drunk as I intended to, but I think that might be a side effect of the vampirism; I'm not sure. Anyway, that's not the part that I need to write about, because I don't know what to think - what to do.

He was drunk. He was drunk, and I was - I can't say I was drunk.

I was lost in the moment, though, and he is just - he's cute, you know?

But then I was listening to the way his heartbeat picked up as he looked at me, and I was fantasizing about feeding on him, and gods, but it would be the best thing I ever tasted, I just know it would.

And I can't do that to him.

He's - pure, and innocent, and good, and I can't do that to him.

I fled.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**\---Last Seed, 29th, 4E 201---**

After we got over the initial awkwardness of the morning - neither of us talking about what happened, about how I'd abandoned him early - Lucien had an odd sort of request. Apparently, he's not content to just follow me around; he wants to actually be 'useful' in combat, so he asked me to train him.

Honestly, it's an excuse to spend more time doing something with him specifically, so I agreed right away.

He's cute. Gods help me, because I can't help myself. I should leave him alone, but the selfish part of me can't let him go.

And if I did, he'd be alone. Easy pickings for someone even worse than I am.

I've got to protect him, even if it's protecting him from myself.

So, in non-Lucien news, though, there's a couple of important things I want to go over because I'm not sure what to make of them.

Number one, I was confronted by a vampire hunter by the name of Durak. He must have been off his game or something, not to realize what I was. Maybe it's just because he caught sight of me in the light of day; I know I wouldn't expect a vampire wandering the streets during the daytime.

The orc was a representative of the Dawnguard, the vampire hunters who tried to assault Bloodlet Throne while I was held captive there.

Maybe they're just uniformly kind of inept?

I don't know. What I do know is that if this other lead doesn't pan out, they might well be my best chance of finding my brother at this point.

The other lead is more interesting by far, and we're spending a couple of days here, I think. There's an entire vampire city called Coldhaven, dug out of a cave system beneath Ivarstead. Apparently, they've built themselves up right under the mortals' noses ... I don't know.

They're cordial enough, and they back off readily enough when I assert myself. Apparently, they think Lucien is my thrall, and it's some kind of amusing that I'm so protective of him.

That I've allowed him a measure of freedom.

For now, I'm allowing them to think that. He's - I don't even know. He's a good friend. That's important.

Everything else is complicated, messy, and not something I want to discuss in the middle of a city filled with other bloodsuckers.

Does he know what they are? He has to, doesn't he?

Has he figured me out, yet?

Gods, help me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually changed this up quite a bit from the original version, but I wasn't happy with how the original version played out. 
> 
> Of course, that means numerous edits down the line ... c'est la vie.


	5. Largashbur and Goldenglow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nox gets a new job.

**\---Last Seed, 29th, 4E 201---**

We left Coldhaven in the morning, right as everyone else was headed to bed.

See, that's part of why we ended up leaving; it's difficult to get an audience or talk to anyone about anything when they're all unconscious in their coffins, you know? I've been keeping to a diurnal schedule for Lucien's sake, more than anything, though he likes to sleep in a little bit.

He's cute when he's asleep.

Okay, he's just cute.

Anyway, so we made for Riften, since the Dawnguard have their home near there, and as vampire hunters, they're my one sure lead on where I might find more vampires.

With any luck they're as unobservant - as trusting - as Durak was, or this will be the shortest meeting I've ever met.

But so - on the road, there was a giant attacking an orcish stronghold, right? It was kind of a problem, so I decided we'd help out - against Lucien's better judgement - because I'm nice like that, I suppose.

Then, the orcs' shaman asked me for a favor.

Now it just so happens I'd gotten my hands on a daedra's heart - it's a rare alchemical ingredient, the sort of thing that only shows up every so often - and some troll fat, which were the reagents this shaman needed to call upon their god. See, the tribe's leader was weak, and he'd gotten the whole tribe cursed for his weakness.

In order to prove he wasn't a weakling, Malacath tasked him with clearing the giants from His shrine. Which is where I came in again.

See, since I was now a part of this - and because Chieftan Yamarz IS a weakling - he demanded that I help with the job. So I agreed, because he was going to pay me for the work. (Again, this was against Lucien's better judgement. 'Giants?!' he asked, kind of incredulously. And in a fair fight, he's right, giants are trouble. I don't tend to start fair fights, though.)

Anyway, so we get there, we tear through the cave easy enough (I love my bow), and Yamarz offers to double the pay if we kill the giants' chieftan instead. So I agree, because hey, we could use the money.

You know, it's strange to think, but this is the second time a daedric prince has spoken to me directly.

Apparently, instead of accepting that we were going to hold our tongues for the coin, Yamarz decided that he could totally take us on himself, which ended with me draining the life from Yamarz, because he'd managed to knock Lucien out with a hard blow - all Lucien had to know was that Yamarz was dead.

All anyone had to know was that Yamarz was dead. I put a couple of arrows into him, and woke Lucien up.

Nobody hurts Lucien on my watch.

Malacath was happy with my work, because Yamarz was a weakling who was always scheming his way out of responsibility. So now I've got to return this hammer to Largashbur, and then the god of the outcasts says he plans to 'whip the rest of them into shape.'

It's late, though, so on the way back to Largashbur, we stopped in Riften.

Which was an ordeal, starting with the guard at the front gate.

See, they'd decided to institute a visitor's tax, in order to scam travelling merchants out of their hard-earned coin. I called him on the fact it was an obvious shakedown, and he stood down, opened the gate and everything.

Then, we go to the local inn, the Bee and Barb, and this pretty redheaded fellow sidles up to me. Starts chatting me up - he's got a nice voice, but he's no Lucien.

Anyway, it turns out that this 'Brynjolf' fellow is with the Guild. They've hit a rough patch, lately, but I do still have sticky fingers, and a fierce need to offload some of my own hard-earned spoils, so I let him talk me into doing a job for him. Nothing too fancy - implicating a merchant in a theft - it'll be easy enough for me, especially now.

I've noticed that it's gotten easier to go about unnoticed, and I have to attribute that to my heightened senses. I can hear myself more clearly, which means when I'm trying to go about soundlessly, I'm a lot more aware of my mistakes.

Lucien was quiet for a bit, but then he asked me if I was really going to go through with it. I think he got the impression I was some kind of a good person, with how I help folk out and all.

I feel kind of bad.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**\---Last Seed, 30th, 4E 201---**

I'm going to keep this short because I've got to take a nap here in a minute.

I've been formally inducted into the Skyrim branch of the Thieves' Guild, which is a useful connection to have no matter where you are.

Brynjolf had me run some errands for him - simple things, extortion, mostly - to warm me up before the big job.

See, apparently, their main source of income had been from offering 'protection' to a local bee farm, Goldenglow Estate, which produces the honey necessary for the Black-Briar Meadery. All's well with that - until suddenly it isn't, and they need someone to get in, find out what gives, and get out.

Problem is, the fellow who owns the place has hired on a dozen mercenaries to protect his assets.

Lucien was excited for the job - he had this idea that he was somehow ready to be a master infiltrator - I had to let him down gently. He's gotten - better - since I started working with him, but he's still loud and a bit clumsy.

It'll be good to put my skills to the test again. I've missed upstairs work, a bit.

Only a bit.

So - I'll take a short nap, head out in the dead of night. It'll be a moonless one, too - perfect for getting in and out unseen.

Shadow hide me.

  
  


* * *

  
  


**\---Last Seed, 31st, 4E 201---**

Goldenglow Estate was - laughably simple.

Let me rephrase.

I might have been afraid. There were a lot of well-armed and armored men on that island. If I put one foot wrong, I would have died then and there.

But they never saw me. I slipped in through the sewers (which reek even worse with my enhanced senses), took out some skeevers (sorry, friends, but you're in the way), and tickled the front door open with my picks.

I could actually hear the planks that wanted to give before settling my full weight on them. Creaky floorboards have killed more than one thief, but not me - not this time, and maybe never again.

So I slipped past the sleepy mercenaries, scouted the upstairs and made off with more than a few shiny little trinkets.

Then back down the stairs - there was one mercenary who was on-duty and alert, and he was guarding the safe.

What he wasn't guarding was his own back. I snuck up behind him, tipped his head to the side, and ripped out his throat before he could give more than a quiet gasp of alarm. It felt good, and I inwardly congratulated myself. In this line of work, you always want to handle your own bonuses, and I did well for myself.

I won't be hungry for a while, I think. That's good.

It turns out that Aringoth, the wood elf who runs the whole place, actually sold Goldenglow to a third party. That's why he upped the security, and that's why he suddenly cut ties with the Guild.

Idiot.

Oh, there was something else, earlier, that I forgot to mention. I brought the giant leader's club back to Largashbur like I'd been told. Malacath named one of the other orcs chieftain, and bestowed onto me a token of His appreciation.

It's another heavy-assed hammer, this time with obvious Daedric taint. It's heavy, it's unwieldy, and it points you out to the Vigil ... anyway, I don't usually do charity, but there's a museum up in Solitude that's been advertising, and apparently they take donations from all over the province. I handed Volendrung off to the local courier, and his jaw pretty much hit the floor.

Yes, it's the genuine article, no, I'm not charging you anything for it - do you honestly think I could get anyone to buy it for what it's worth?

I try to only steal things I can move quickly, or things I can actually use. As it stands, I still don't know what I'm going to do with Hircine's token. I've taken to wearing it on a chain around my neck - it's an interesting trinket, but it's got no real value for me, you know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once a kleptomaniac always a kleptomaniac. At least this way she gets paid for it.


	6. The Volkihar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nox finds Ronthil.

**\---Heartfire, 1st, 4E 201---**

I'm fairly certain Ronthil isn't in Coldhaven.

By this point, if he was here, he'd know I was looking for him, and - I'd hope - he'd come looking for me.

Which leaves the Dawnguard.

So ... either these vampire hunters are utterly inept at actually spotting a vampire, or they're humoring me.

I presented myself at Fort Dawnguard as an eager vampire hunter, ready to prove my mettle. They took me at my word (thank the Gods), and set me on my first task: to find an ancient vampire relic in Dimhollow Crypt.

I'm curious what I'm going to find there.

With any luck, it'll be vampires.

Oh, there's a couple other things. Unrelated to my actual reason for being in Skyrim, I've sort of let myself develop obligations here.

Firstly, Maven Black-Briar asked for me. Apparently, it's rare in Skyrim that a thief will actually successfully do the job without complaints - and without mucking the whole thing up. So I've already started making a name for myself, I guess?

Anyway, she says I'm to report to Whiterun, to a fellow named Mallus Maccius, in order to get the details on my next job. He'll be waiting for me in the Bannered Mare.

It's on the way north, so I don't see a reason not to - particularly since if I anger Maven Black-Briar, I could spend the rest of my unnatural life in prison.

Or at least until I was found out as a vampire and summarily executed.

The other thing ...

Lucien's decided he's on board with the whole thieving thing. He wants me to train him to do the work and everything.

Apparently, he's decided it will be great fun - an exciting learning experience - and he's completely ignoring the fact that it's thoroughly illegal. Fuck's sake.

As part of this, I'm continuing to show him how to move, how to walk - he's having to learn the basics, just like I did, only he's about double the age I learned the basics at. Gods help me, he's an amateur, and it shows. At least he's got nimble fingers.  
  


* * *

**\---Heartfire, 2nd, 4E 201---**

It's late, and I'm tired, but I'm trying to keep in the habit of writing in this damned thing so here goes.

The Honningbrew job went off without a hitch, and I handled my own bonuses again. This time, it was a handful of silver bars, which we've since sold off to a khajiit caravan. The cats don't tend to ask too many questions, if you catch my meaning.

That done, we headed north, toward Dawnstar. Dimhollow crypt was supposed to be just up the way from the Hall of the Vigilant, which was just off the road to Dawnstar. I'm no archaeologist, but I find it kind of ironic that this ancient vampire relic was buried practically right under the Vigil's noses this entire time ... especially given what it turned out to be.

In theory, Lucien is excited to be able to study old nordic crypts up close.

In practice, he still panics a little bit when the walking dead come after him. It's kind of cute, actually.

So we investigated the ruin, but we weren't the first ones there. The Vigil had gotten there first - and the vampires came after that. It was a little disappointing to see how quickly and efficiently the Vigil had been dispatched, but I suppose that's why I had to handle my own escape.

As ancient ruins go, this one was particularly straightforward - until we got to the main burial chamber.

There was a relatively simple puzzle to it - but the key component was blood. The button that started the whole process off tore a hole through my hand, and if I didn't heal supernaturally fast, I wouldn't be able to write any of this.

It fucking hurt, okay?

So we puzzled out how to move the illusory flames through the braziers, in order to unlock the ancient trove of vampire goodies ... only to find that our prize was not a 'what' so much as a 'who.'

Her name's Serana, and she's beautiful, in a classical sort of vampire way. If you like pale skin, red eyes, and dark hair, she's your girl - except she's not anyone's girl, I don't think. She's got this very - independent - air about her.

Lucien introduced himself in his usual chipper sort of fashion. She humored him for a bit, then asked me directly if I always let my thralls do the talking.

For once, I decided to set the record straight. He's not my thrall, he's my - well. I stumbled over it then, and she laughed at me for it. 

We’re just friends. That’s all we are to one another.

Gods, I feel like an idiot.

Moreover, talking to her - there can’t be any doubt in Lucien’s mind, now, what I am, what she is.

I should have lied. I should have - something.

Gods, but he’ll hate me now, won’t he?

* * *

**\---Heartfire, 4th, 4E 201---**

Lucien says that I spent maybe a couple of hours inside the castle, total.

I lost consciousness, but there wasn't time enough for anyone to have done anything - untoward. Was there?

Gods.

So firstly, Serana's home is a castle on an island north of Solitude, a court of vampires who call themselves 'Volkihar.' They claim to be the oldest and most powerful clan in Skyrim, and I'm sure they, at least, believe that to be true.

I don't know. I feel more powerful now, like I could take on an army and win, but I feel like that's also got to be something of an exaggeration?

Anyway.

The important thing.

The thing that I was afraid of happened, and honestly, I can't even blame him. Ronthil was there, one of Lord Harkon's sycophants, as was his beloved master.

Gods. He's such a people-pleaser. He doesn't even have a coffin of his own to retire to; he sleeps behind a bookshelf and pretends like that's good enough.

I mean, it used to be good enough - anywhere we could lay our heads and get some shut-eye undisturbed was good enough, once upon a time.

I've always tried to provide better for him.

I guess now he's got someone else to look after him. Poor bastard.

He was thoroughly shocked to see me there, almost as shocked as I was to see him just leaning on the railing.

Gods, I've missed that idiot.

It was worth it, I think. Everything was worth it to know he's safe, alive - after a fashion anyway - and doing well for himself. He's a merchant for the Volkihar, and he's determined to make himself indispensable, so those at court have no reason to get rid of him.

Honestly, I wish him the best of luck with that. It's not what I'd want for myself, but ... he's always been good at getting what he wants. And he's happy with his lot, bless him.

We kept up the charade that Lucien was my thrall around everyone else, but I decided to tell Ronthil the truth - Lucien's a dear friend, and my pupil in the shadows. Ronthil got a crafty sort of look on his face, and then he started grilling Lucien on all sorts of things! I think -

Gods, I think he was trying to look out for me.

My little brother. I've missed him, the idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Search complete! Hooray.


	7. The Bloodstone Chalice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which filling a cup is a hassle.

**\---Heartfire, 5th, 4E 201---**

Riften is just about how I'd left it - dirty, a little bit miserable all over - oh, but Brand-Shei is out of prison, finally.

Hopefully he learned his lesson.

There are parts of my job I like, and parts of my job I don't like.

I enjoy sneaking past the guard. I like tweaking their noses, so to speak. I like paying myself my little bonuses, and I like the way it feels when the tumblers fall just so and the lock cracks open for me.

I don't like having to actually shake people down. I'm not a fan of being the bad guy - I'm more a, well, 'lovable rogue,' I guess.

Or at least, I try to be.

I've been sent to the Rift with a chalice. I'm supposed to fill it at a place called 'Redwater Den,' then add the blood of a powerful vampire. Then I have to make my way from Riften all the way back to Solitude without spilling a drop.

Fortunately for me, the bloodstone chalice is enchanted against spills. You can supposedly tip the damned thing upside down, and so long as someone isn't actively drinking from it, it won't spill a drop.

Handy, given the sheer distance I'm supposed to have to travel with this thing.

I've decided to play along with Harkon's - excuse me, Lord Harkon's court. I generally go my own way, and that includes this whole vampirism thing. But Ronthil's there, and if I don't toe the line a little bit, I'm likely to be out on my ear - which means I wouldn't be able to look out for my little brother anymore.

Hence, the chalice.

Anyway, since I'm in the Rift already, it seemed prudent I visit Riften proper and share what information I managed to get from Honningbrew Meadery. It wasn't much, but Sabjorn's silent partner was indicated by the same symbol from Goldenglow - a simple dagger against a black circle.

This led to me being assigned another job. I'm not sure where they got the idea that I'm the perfect fit for this whole, 'identify the Guild's new nemesis' business, but apparently I'm one of the few members who isn't being afflicted by preternaturally bad luck. Delvin says it's a curse, Vex says he's full of it, but everyone agrees that shit's fucked for the Guild right now.

Shadows preserve me, I hope it's not catching!

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**\---Heartfire, 6th, 4E 201---**

I've started letting Lucien tag along with me on my easier jobs.

It's illegal, and I'm now risking both our necks, but I think he's gotten to a point where the only thing that will help is practical experience.

Shadows hide him.

He seems kind of shocked that it's usually as simple as bypassing the lock and taking whatever isn't nailed down.

I gather he thought it would be a lot more exciting than all that.

As for the 'lock' part of that, he's still utterly hopeless, albeit fascinated by the basic concepts. It's fine; most good teams have a dedicated locksmith.

Last night I had him serve as the lookout. He did well enough; nobody came to investigate anyway, so all's well.

Given how easily he flusters, I'm not sure he'd be able to come up with a good excuse on the fly for what he's doing that isn't 'waiting for my thief friend to get back,' so it's probably not a great idea to use him as the lookout going forward.

I could imagine asking Serana to do it. Assuming she didn't find it to be utterly beneath her - if anybody so much as dared to question what she was doing somewhere, she'd probably just - there's this way nobles Look at people, it's in their bearing and how they act and talk and a dozen other little things. She'd have no trouble with it, because the gods alone can help a fool who's questioning Her Royal Majesty.

So anyway, we made it to Redwater Den, and the place was literally a skooma den. Apparently, the bloodspring looks like blood, but if a vampire drinks from it, it gets them thoroughly messed up.

This wasn't the first drug den I'd been to, though I can't say I've ever liked them. There's a certain air of despair to places like that, something that just doesn't wash out.

Lucien, on the other hand, was sort of appalled, especially when he realized the vampires were using it as their feeding grounds.

'You take us to all the best places, Nox.'

I sure do.

Honestly, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by the fact Harkon's advisors sent pawns to try and kill me - take the glory for themselves - but I also don't know that Harkon would have been surprised, either. According to Garan Marethi, who's an elder vampire a bit removed from the machinations of court, I was supposed to be filling the chalice with a mix of blood. Some of it had to be powerful vampire blood, and I don't exactly qualify.

Where else was I supposed to get that blood, if not for the treasonous bastards lying in wait for me?

Anyway, it's done.

Today we're stopping over in Whiterun, tonight we'll make way to Solitude. I've got a job to do there - and then I'll be headed for that damned castle again.

Hopefully I can keep balancing my duties to the Guild with my new obligations to Lord Harkon. It's a delicate thing, but of the two, I think I can afford to dally a little longer with Harkon's requests: ancient vampires don't seem to operate on the same kind of time scale as the rest of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nox voice: can I steal things without, like, actually hurting people?


	8. Meridia, Karliah, and Mercer Frey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the seeds of betrayal are sown.

**\---Heartfire, 7th, 4E 201---**

Well.

That was - different.

On the way to Solitude, we passed through a bandit camp by the charming name of 'Robber's Gorge.'

You can imagine what they do there for yourself.

The murder was expected; bandits don't exactly come quietly in Skyrim, and even if they did, the jails would be overtaxed by the sheer number of them - I swear, there are more bandits and other malcontents in Skyrim than normal people. This province has a serious problem with lawbreakers.

Not that I'm one to talk, by any stretch! I'm literally stopping over in Solitude to engage in petty theft on my way to the local vampire keep.

So, yeah.

What we didn't expect was the beacon.

It was about the size of someone's head, made of pure, multifaceted crystal that caught the light in a way that I found unsettling. Lucien stared into it, mesmerized. Apparently, he heard a voice, commanding him to return the beacon to 'Mount Kilkreath,' which was just a short detour on our way to Solitude, so I figured there wouldn't be any real harm in checking it out.

Naturally, the beacon belonged to a gods-damned daedric prince. This one was 'Meridia,' and she has a particular hatred of the unliving.

No wonder her beacon made me uneasy.

She stole Lucien for several long moments - he disappeared into the ether, only to reappear a short distance away, with a newfound purpose.

Meridia had tasked him with cleansing the temple of 'a foul darkness,' by which she meant a necromancer who'd taken to raising the dead, using her temple as his base of operations and her token as his power source.

Even I can acknowledge that's generally bad, so I agreed to help.

The whole place made me feel horribly unwelcome.

Lucien said he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about me looting the desecrated corpses left in the necromancer's wake - and especially about me looting the temple itself - but I sort of ignored him on that point.

Meridia isn't my god, and I figured I might as well handle my own bonuses here.

He relented readily enough, anyway.

So.

We killed the necromancer easily enough.

Lucien has been awarded Meridia's 'token' for his service, a weapon by the name of Dawnbreaker which doesn't quite cause me wholehearted panic every time I look at the damned thing.

And I? Am a few hundred septims richer. I'll take it.

Later today we'll be squeezing Gulum-Ei for information, and after that, we'll be returning the chalice to Lord Harkon.

Shadow preserve us.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**\---Heartfire, 8th, 4E 201---**

Gulum-Ei was both extremely useless and remarkably useful, mostly based on what we were willing to do for him - and more importantly, how badly we wanted the information.

This was another situation where Lucien's inexperience would have proved a liability, so I had him stand watch over the East Empire Company while I stuck to Gulum-Ei's tail like a burr. Fool lizard never even heard me until it was too late.

(He's not dead, but several of the mercenaries he hired to guard his illicit stash of loot are. Teach him to stop paying the Guild.)

So. 'Karliah' is apparently the name of the buyer, and she has a history with the Guild. By which I mean she apparently killed the old Guildmaster and seems to have her sights set on Mercer. There's some kind of personal vendetta there, and she's left enough information for us to follow her to 'where the end began' - whatever that means.

Mercer will know more.

After that lovely revelation, we made our way back to Castle Volkihar.

Now. I won't pretend that I'm some great scholar, or that I know the first thing about the Elder Scrolls, but what little I do know suggests that they're not the sort of thing anyone truly possesses. There are some things that just - it's not possible to own something like that, even if you're technically holding onto it.

Didn't they vanish from the White-Gold Tower of their own accord? Wasn't everyone baffled by that? Isn't that proof enough that they can't be owned?

I don't know. Harkon seems convinced that these things belong to him, that he somehow owns multiple Elder Scrolls, rather than the Scrolls allowing him their use. It's such a trivial distinction, but it bothers me, okay?

Anyway, now that he's got his hands on an Elder Scroll, he's decided he needs someone to read the damned thing for him, and so he's sent everyone in his court out to hunt down a Moth Priest. Coincidentally, he's spread rumors - they're not really false, are they? - that an Elder Scroll has been found in Skyrim.

Which it was.

I found it.

It was with Serana. I found her, too, not that Harkon seems to care about her.

'Little girl doesn't get along with her father' seems a gross understatement, now that I've seen how he acts, and how she reciprocates.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**\---Heartfire, 9th, 4E 201---**

Honestly, given the entire court is supposed to be looking for the moth priest, I don't really care if I'm the one to find them.

I should. I don't.

Job's done, I found my brother, he's alive and well, I don't really care about court politics. That sort of thing's always been so far above me that I didn't bother with it.

But.

In finding Serana, I've become 'Lord Harkon's new favorite,' according to the court gossips and - more distressingly - to the people who might want me dead to take that place for themselves.

So here we are.

Serana, like Lucien, has decided to tag along with me in the hopes we'll find something interesting, or at least worthwhile.

She didn't seem too broken up to hear that I gave negative fucks about finding the moth priest - apparently she's more interested in seeing the world and just getting out of the damned castle a bit. I don't think I can blame her; the place is depressing and oddly crowded for a castle. Dragonsreach felt bigger, despite the fact I'm fairly certain it isn't.

So ... right, I forgot to mention a couple of things, I think.

While poking around Coldhaven, I got asked to find any information I could about the whereabouts of one of the missing founders.

And I did, and it turned out he'd gotten killed off for real, which was terribly unfortunate for him, but at least that meant we knew where he was, right?

So I relayed that information to the 'Sovrena,' and she rewarded me with a house. The house came with a thrall. Despite my best efforts, I've been unable to convince the girl she's free now, that she doesn't need to serve me - it's somewhere between frustrating and depressing that there's often little that can be done for a person once they've given in to a vampire.

At best, I've managed to convince this girl to serve me, and then commanded her to try and act more naturally. Even that's chancy, and leads to little breakdowns when she thinks she's angered or offended me ....

Anyway.

The house came with a ring, and the ring lets me teleport back to the house anytime I want to. Which is handy. I used that power today in order to cut the travel time to Riften roughly in half.

That let me arrive at the Guild before the sun rose.

(Lucien wasn't super happy about our new nocturnal schedule, at first, but I reminded him that thieves aren't exactly a daytime sort of people, and he sighed and agreed.)

So.

What to do with the fact that Mercer Frey is lying to me about some or all of Karliah's crimes?

It was a well-rehearsed lie, one that would have passed a mortal without even so much as a moment's hesitation, but I'm not just a mortal, and he was definitely lying about some - or all - of what he was saying.

And now he wants me to come with him to track her down. Alone.

I don't like it, and I don't trust it. I feel like he means to betray me, but with no hard evidence, I can't really confront him.

What can I honestly do other than go along with it?

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**\---Heartfire, 10th, 4E 201---**

So we've decided to split up. Serana and Lucien will investigate any information about the moth priest available in Winterhold, while I go see to Mercer's Fun and Exciting Nordic Ruin of Betrayal.

I've already said if I don't return, Mercer had something to do with it.

I trust him about as far as I could throw him before I became a vampire, but all I have to go on are my heightened senses, which would be fairly hard to prove anything with - without letting on what I am, which I refuse.

For now.

The road to Winterhold was fairly uneventful, other than a few Dawnguard we picked off on the way.

I'm glad I didn't have to wait for them to save me. I'd still be waiting.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**\---Heartfire, 11th, 4E 201---**

So Lucien's a wizard now. He's joined the college and everything. That's nice.

He  _ also _ got the information we needed from their head librarian - apparently, he cultivated something of a reputation as a fanatic for the Elder Scrolls and convinced everyone that he just absolutely had to talk to a real, live, moth priest. Good for him.

He had, by all accounts, a much better day than I did.

I've got to get better at calling people out when they're lying to me, but what was I really going to say? "I know this is a setup, and I know you're going to betray me at the first opportunity"? That would have just started a fair fight, and I don't win fair fights. I cheat.

So I let Mercer lie to my face. It wasn't all lies - he really did respect Gallus and Karliah. Just not enough to stop doing - whatever he was doing that put them off. Something about his methods was abhorrent.

What, was he a murderer or something?

I don't know. I mean to find out, though.

Anyway. Back to the story - so Mercer lied to my face. We entered Snow Veil Sanctum together after he picked an absolutely impossible lock - look, I'm just saying, he has to have been using some kind of magic, because from what I could see, he wasn't doing anything that  _ should _ have forced the lock open, and yet, it opened. The same was true of the puzzle lock later on.

I know my way around a lot of different kinds of locks, and nothing he was doing should have worked.

But it did.

We actually found Karliah. She shot me, and I froze.

It wasn't the poison, exactly, though I could feel the poison on the arrow running through my veins. It felt hot and then cold, burning and freezing in turns. I felt it trying to work, but ....

I'm dead. Some things just don't function the same, and this is apparently one of them.

I realized what was supposed to happen, however, and so I played along, mostly because over the course of the past two hours, I'd decided that Mercer and Karliah could figure out their problems without me. If she wanted me out of the way, I was happy to fall over like a sack of potatoes.

The problem came five minutes later, when Mercer slit my fucking throat.

Gods. My voice is still raw from that.

I woke up like an hour later with a pounding headache and a fierce hunger; I was starving, and every word that came out of Karliah's mouth sounded like 'I am made of meat, please eat me.'

So I held up one finger and asked her to politely wait until I had a long swig from my flask.

'Why did you go along with it, vampire?' She was a perceptive one, apparently. 'My poison didn't have any effect on you. Why did you act like it did? What do you want?'

It took me a couple of tries - and a full minute - before I could speak, with my throat as mangled as it was.

'I knew Mercer was lying to me, but I couldn't call him on it.'

She frowned, at that. 'So you let him cut your throat - '

'Because if I didn't, he'd figure out what I was.'

I managed to get out of talking much more on the basis that my throat was raw and painful. Karliah told me about how she'd found Gallus' journal, and how she meant to use it to exonerate herself, except that it was written in a language she didn't recognize.

So I brought the journal to one of Gallus' old contacts, a man named Enthir at the College of Winterhold, who identified that the journal was written in the ancient falmer language. Now, I've seen falmer. As they are now, they don't have much in the way of language. Oblivion, but the vampires of Coldhaven control their falmer thralls through magical coercion exclusively, because they're barely sapient.

Apparently, that wasn't always true; they were once a species with language and culture just like any mer.

Anyway, I hate to drag Lucien away from his studies, but we're headed for Markarth. He can carry his stack of spell tomes with him if he has to.

After that, we'll go north to Dragon Bridge and ask after our wayward moth priest. With any luck, he'll still be in the area.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure nothing could go wrong here.


	9. Markarth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, honestly, this city is a mess.

**\---Heartfire, 13th, 4E 201---**

The road to Markarth was mostly uneventful, Except!

There was a store on the road, and I decided to have a look. (It was getting late, or is it early? I don't know, time is confusing anymore.) They had a wide assortment of clothing for every style. I've got a set of robes that I think will suit Lucien well, but they need some kind of enchantment, I think.

Other than that, I found a wonderful new outfit for me. The gloves leave my fingers free, the cloak helps hide my face from the sun - it's a lovely travelling outfit, all told. I also picked up a set of jewelry with cute little snowflakes on it - that promise to almost completely negate incoming fire damage.

I'm keeping the other suit of armor for more ... let's call them 'formal' events. They fit the general aesthetic that's currently 'in' at Harkon's court. I wonder how often fashion changes for vampires? I imagine it's either very often, or never, with little in between, haha.

Anyway, so we made it to Markarth and my gods, this city is a mess.

There's Forsworn attacking people in broad daylight, the guard does nothing about it. There's something going on in the crypt that the priest doesn't want anyone to know about. There's a probably-haunted house that's being investigated by the Vigil. Some guy wants me to meet him at the shrine to Talos, which sounds like a trap given that Talos worship was outlawed after the Great War, so I'm not going, thanks.

Oh, and the whole place is one good invasion away from being completely overrun with falmer! Good times.

So, Calcelmo was extraordinarily reticent to share what knowledge he had about the falmer language. Apparently, he's determined not to share any of it until his research is officially published ... at some point, I don't know when, and we can't afford to wait.

That said, I was able to work out a deal to get me in the front door of his museum: I'd kill off a giant spider for him if he'd allow me access to the dwemer museum. All's well with that plan, until I dig a little deeper, and it turns out that the spiders are the only thing keeping the falmer out of the city.

Because every dwarven ruin needs a healthy falmer presence, right?

Apparently. That's what the folk at Coldhaven say; they dug up their workforce along with the dwemer artifacts they'd found.

So anyway, spiders, falmer - the only thing for the falmer presence, once I'd killed off the spiders, was to engage the city's automated defenses. Which sounds good in theory, but in practice I'm not sure how much good it will do, AND there's now roaming constructs ready to take a limb off an unwary scholar at any given moment, so that's great, too.

Look, what I'm trying to get at is that the city of stone is actually a house of cards and any one thing could cause the whole gods-damned thing to topple.

Once I got out of Nchaund-Zel (the dwemer city under Markarth), I reported everything to Calcelmo. He seemed a little disheartened, but he understood, and agreed it was for the best to engage the defenses.

Good for him.

Anyway so then came the heist.

I left Lucien and Serana behind for this; they're both making great progress on their overall sneakiness, but I'm still leagues ahead of them, and it shows.

The first floor of the museum was very easy; I was allowed to be there. It was a little tricky to get past the locks and into the back rooms, but once there, I had no trouble at all. The guards were on the highest possible alert - they spooked at everything, and it was easy to create my own diversions.

I had plenty of time to copy down Calcelmo's notes, and I even took a rubbing of the big stone centerpiece, just in case.

I'm finding my enhanced reflexes and heightened senses are making mundane tasks trivial. I'm also a bit more durable; my hand should have cramped during all that, but it didn't.

Also I can carry roughly three times my own body weight on my person at any given time, if I distribute it fairly evenly.

It's more ungainly than anything!

  
  


* * *

**\---Heartfire, 13th, 4E 201---**

So anyway, now that I've gotten what we came to Markarth for, it's about time to leave. We'll be heading north to Dragon Bridge to ask after the Moth Priest, and then - provided all goes well there - we'll either be returning to Castle Volkihar, or heading to Winterhold.

It really depends on how willing the Moth Priest is to actually help us. I'd like to believe it will be as easy as convincing him to do his sacred duty ....

.... but when are these things ever easy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoopsies, posted this to the wrong story first time around.
> 
> Anyway, seriously, fuck Markarth.


	10. The Skeleton Key

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mercer pissed off a God.

**\---Heartfire, 14th, 4E 201---**

The road back to Winterhold was long, but dull - except for the fact we came across a stray dog. He's a good hound, and loyal to a fault. His master died - disease - and he's got nowhere else to go.

I've got a soft spot for animals, always have. I'm letting him tag along. His name's Meeko, and he's trained for combat.

Just about everyone in this damned province is. You sort of have to be, given the dangers on the road.

Anyway, Enthir was able to decipher Gallus's journal with the notes I brought him. It took him a bit of time, but it seems that Gallus suspected Mercer of stealing funds silently from the Guild's coffers, as well as defiling something called the 'Twilight Sepulcher.'

Apparently, it's some kind of temple to Nocturnal.

Now, I've never been a religious sort of person, but everyone in the business knows that Lady Luck is a fancy euphemism for the daedric prince. If Mercer's pissed off Nocturnal, that goes a long way toward explaining why the Guild's luck has gone sour, doesn't it?

So. Tonight we make way back to Riften, and hopefully they'll listen to reason.

There's every chance it'll be a bloodbath.

Shadows preserve us.

P.S.: I forgot to mention, with all the excitement surrounding the journal, but we did locate the moth priest.

He'd been captured by vampires, and then recaptured by the Dawnguard - but he was no use to anyone like he was. His mind had already been shattered in deference to his new master's will - and his master was a pile of ashes on the ground. So that sucks for everyone involved.

Serana was able to twist his will about to serve her, and she directed him to Castle Volkihar. He's going to wait for us, and Serana says that even if her father wanted to, he couldn't break her compulsion without risking further damage to the priest.

Honestly, the whole thing makes me uncomfortable.

It's - people aren't for owning, you know? You shouldn't be able to just twist a person around like that, so they don't know what way's up even if they had a fucking map.

  
  


* * *

  
  


**\---Heartfire, 15th, 4E 201---**

Not sure I'd ever imagined having the audacity to steal from a God, but Mercer apparently does. The bastard.

So let's go over the facts.

Fact: Mercer's place was ridiculously easy to get into, once you knew how. His guard dog stood right next to the gate, keys on his hip, and was surprised to get a knife in the back for his troubles.

Asshole.

Then, there was the matter of the ramp, though I could have smashed a window or just climbed the damned contraption myself. Still, it was easy enough to fuck up the locking mechanism with an arrow, which let us in.

After that were the traps. I got poisoned once, but it didn't do much to me - everything else was child's play.

I'm starting to wonder if I didn't already have Nocturnal's favor, or if I really am that good. Is it just the power of my blood that makes me so much better than the average thief?

Are the ancients of Coldhaven just as smug in their superiority, I wonder?

Anyway, so it turns out that Mercer Frey is headed to the old dwarven ruins of Irkingthand, where he means to steal a pair of crystals known as the 'eyes of the Falmer' - two massive gems, each the size of someone's torso. They'd set any thief up for life, and Mercer plans to take them for himself.

It's a slap in the face for the Guild, and the bastard deserves what he's going to get.

You know, it's funny, but I knew the bastard wasn't just picking the damned lock on things. It makes sense that he had some kind of power beyond the ken of mortal men. Especially when he refused to let me in on his techniques.

Bastard.

Anyway, so the other thing is that Mercer's stolen Nocturnal's artifact, the fabled Skeleton Key, and is using it to tap untold power, unlocking metaphysical things as well as actual physical locks.

It's enough to make your head spin, really.

  
  


* * *

  
  


**\---Heartfire, 16th, 4E 201---**

So anyway, Irkingthand went well.

I'm not actually terribly upset by all the killing I've had to do since joining the Guild, but I do have to wonder at how different the Skyrim branch is to the Cyrodiilic branch.

Sure, Bryn opened up by saying that we can't turn a profit by killing, but then on all these major jobs I've done, there's been no real repercussions for slaughtering everyone involved. I'd have been out of the Guild thrice over if they heard how bloody some of the work's gotten here.

I feel like I'm supposed to care more about that. Is that a side effect of the vampirism, I wonder? Or something else?

I don't know. I might never know.

Irkingthand was filled to bursting with falmer. I really anticipated a bit more difficulty slipping past them, but if anything, it was even easier ... for me.

Karliah and Brynjolf are good ... for mortals.

More and more I'm having to make that distinction. Mortals senses aren't as good, mortal skills don't quite measure up. I've been a vampire for almost a month. How much better at this can I get?

How much more powerful, how much more dangerous?

I'm curious, to say the least.

Anyway, I'm going to offload these enormous fucking crystals as a special donation to the Guild's coffers. I ...

Well, I'm finding that I don't really have a pressing need for gold, you know?

I could get by penniless, if I didn't need to pay for a roof over my head.

It's something I've had to adjust to, honestly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, Nox sort of does let her skill go to her head a little bit.


	11. Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nox has a little drunken holiday.

**\---Heartfire, 18th, 4E 201---**

You ever just spend the day lazing about?

I mean, I'm sure a lot of people do, but it's so rare when I do it that it's worthy of note, and even on a 'lazy' day like today, I still got some things done.

There's a cave not far from here, Broken Helm Hollow, and apparently this racist old bastard got himself locked up by bandits there. I would have been content to leave him to his fate (at least, after meeting him), but there was a bounty for his safe return, which led to one of the most awkward and stilted conversations I've ever had.

See, he's one of those 'Skyrim for the Nords' types?

And I'm still a Bosmer, so ... yeah. He owes me his life, and he's not exactly happy about that fact.

Especially when I offered to hand him back over to the bandits in pieces.

We're ... not friends. To say the least.

Anyway, we all got back to Riften in one piece, and I decided to reward myself for - well - for everything, by buying the entire tavern a round or three of mead.

Everybody liked that.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**\---Heartfire, 19th, 4E 201---**

Ugh, my head.

Apparently, we all got roaring drunk and wandered all the way across the damned province?

There was some drunken blasphemy along the way. Maybe.

The last thing I remember is starting a drinking contest with this fellow named Sam, on the (apparently mistaken) assumption that I could handle any poison he cared to dish out.

I ... think over all we had a good time?

Gods, I don't remember anything. I'm going to bed.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**\---Heartfire, 20th, 4E 201---**

Oh, Gods.

I got married?!

I feel - guilty, actually. I can't believe I did something like that, and if I was going to marry anyone - no, I shouldn't think like that.

We aren't even - I haven't even -

Ugh!

When I find that Sam I'm going to - I'm going to - I don't even know!

It's not his fault, really, that I got - well - a lot more drunk than I intended to. He tried to warn me, and I was arrogant about it.

Fuck. Lucien won't even look at me. Serana seems vaguely bemused, but she always seems vaguely bemused.

The only thing for it is to go to this 'Witchmist Grove' and tell whoever it is that I'm very flattered, but I'm not interested. That should sort everything out.

(Somewhere along the way I also stole a goat and sold it to a giant?? I'm wealthy enough I could have bought the ring outright, I don't understand ... fuck, I don't understand any of this, really.)

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**\---Heartfire, 21st, 4E 201---**

A hagraven.

A. Hag. Raven.

The only bright spot in the entire day is that Lucien found it delightfully hilarious and stopped looking so much like I'd kicked him, so honestly, I guess there are worse things that could have happened.

I suppose the sheer absurdity of it absolves me of some guilt; I clearly can't have been in my right mind for any part of this.

Gods. A hagraven. I got married to a fucking hagraven.

What even - I can't - you know, I can't even be mad about this. I want to be; I still feel vaguely guilty about the whole 'marriage' ... thing ... but a hagraven.

I'm done. I'm just done with today.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**\---Heartfire, 22nd, 4E 201---**

I'm back in Whiterun, and today I hope to find Ysolda and discover where the fuck I got married, if only so I can find Sam and - Gods, I don't know, set things straight, I guess.

At this point I don't even know if that's entirely possible, but I'm willing to give it a go.

We …

Lucien and I, we talked, a bit.

He knows what I am, because of course he does. He knows I've been trying to hide it from him. Starving myself if I can't.  


Which, you know, isn't healthy.

It was the whole thing with Serana. She more or less said it outright, and he put together the remaining pieces, because he's not an idiot.

He says - he says if I need to, I can feed on him.

I declined.

He’s important to me, a good friend, and a better person than I’ll ever be. 

I can’t do that to him.

Why did he look hurt, though?

  
  
  


* * *

**\---Heartfire, 23rd, 4E 201---**

'Sam' was actually the daedric prince of debauchery, Sanguine.

That ... explains a lot, actually.

Here's to you, you drunken fuck. May you never interfere in my pitiful existence ever again, please.

A little mead every so often is fine. Blacking out and - well - everything that went on while I was drunk off my ass? No. Not happening, never again.

So, I suppose I've got another daedric artifact I'm going to need to pawn off. At this rate I might as well make it official and go talk to the museum curator in person about becoming a, well, less-than-silent partner.

I sure as fuck don't need the kind of attention these things bring with them, but if the daedra want to keep meddling in my life, I may not have a fucking choice in the matter.

So ... Auryen, is his name. According to the flier. It's something about the 'Dragonborn Gallery,' in honor of the fabled hero of legends.

I suppose I can make my way to Solitude sometime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the entries I had to rework a bit. I think it came out all right.


	12. The Road North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nox absolutely drags her feet and does literally everything but return to Castle Volkihar.

\---Heartfire, 24th, 4E 201---

  


I do have a job to do, first, and it's one I've been putting off for some time now.

I'm supposed to actually return the Skeleton Key to Nocturnal, using something called the 'Pilgrim's Path.'

Apparently, it's out here in Falkreath, so I'm taking a moment here to actually do that, before heading north.

With any luck, it'll be easy enough to get in, return the key, and get out.

But again - these things are never that easy.

Are they?

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


\---Heartfire, 25th, 4E 201---

  


.... apparently, they are!

Honestly. If it weren't for how much I cared for my friends -

\- but that's irrelevant, because I do, and I enjoy travelling with them, and they've saved my ass more than once when I got careless and the Dawnguard showed up.

So, I had to do the final part of my task alone, but that's hardly new.

The temple to Nocturnal was ... bizarre. Light and shadow melded together, and the other Nightingales had become corrupted by their waning connection to the Ebonmere.

I don't much like looking into the face of my own mortality, but twice today I've been presented with my inevitable fate, should I die.

Firstly, there's the matter of my own debt to Nocturnal. I'd be a damn fool and a liar to say my uncanny luck hasn't saved my life more than once, and luck defines everything about a thief, be they a safecracker or a fisherman. Unlucky thieves die in jail. If they even make it to jail. That's just how it is.

The other thing -

So, there was apparently a dog on the road, right? The local blacksmith had seen him, wanted a good strong hound, a loyal beast, for a companion.

I love Meeko, so I wasn't about to give him away.

Still, Lod wanted a hound, and there was one travelling the roads near Falkreath, so Lod persuaded me to go look for him, and I persuaded him to pay me up front for my services.

The dog turns out to be ...

... yet another fucking Daedra. Well, half of a Daedra. This one's Barbas, the voice of reason to Lord Clavicus Vile, wishmaster and striker of rotten deals.

Gods help me.

In order to meet with Clavicus Vile, we had to carve our way through a charming little cave known as Haemar's Shame, wherein we faced vampires of every shape, size, and apparent age.

I feel bad when a child tries to kill me. Even if they're probably older than I am, it does feel a bit wrong to have to put an arrow through them.

Whatever. I can't let myself get burdened by things like that, or I'll never stop moping about. So there was a vampire who got turned as a kid, so their face was still all round and innocent - they're probably more a monster than I am.

Clavicus Vile wants an axe. Barbas is going to follow me about until I get it for him.

That's ... an entire thing that's happening. I've got a Daedra as a travelling companion, for at least a little while longer.

What even is my life.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


\---Heartfire, 26th, 4E 201---

  


So now I'm a homeowner twice over, which is better than I was in Cyrodiil by exactly two houses.

I'm not sure what to do with this, especially since I'm now, like - actually a noble? Nobility? That's a thing I am?

So yeah.

Let me explain.

I got a missive from the Jarl of Falkreath today, and being in good humor (with absolutely no desire to head north just yet), I decided to entertain it.

Turns out, he was doing business with the local bandits, which sort of explains Falkreath's bandit problem. He's decided to clean up, though, which is why he needed an assistant who was both discreet and skilled to handle the problem.

Here's where I come in, because your average bandit is dumber than a box of rocks and half as blind.

So, we dealt with them. No big deal, except it's the sort of thing that hasn't been getting dealt with for some time, so he's ecstatic, grants me land and title for a small sum of gold - low enough in cost that I'd be crazy to turn him down.

I'll grant that the 'land' is a small chunk of Falkreath with a - let's call it a shack, generously - right next to what looks to be a bandit hideout, so I mean to clear that out in the morning. Still, the title's particularly nice for someone like me; I've been named Thane of Falkreath, which means that the guard will ignore smaller crimes like, say, petty theft.

Assuming I ever got caught, that'd be a boon in my favor. And if I don't, well, it's still ... I'm a glorified street rat. This is sort of a big thing for me. I've actually made enough of a name for myself that people noticed me. In a good way, even!

I imagine Harkon's getting impatient, so I can't tarry too long, but it's all to the good if I ingratiate myself to the mortals. Right?

Right.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


\---Heartfire, 27th, 4E 201---

  


We made it as far as Whiterun without incident, but then came the bandits.

Ah, well.

So, there were several camps that we cleared out today. One was a skooma merchant's hideout, evidenced by all the skooma (I mean to see if I can't sell that to the Khajiit caravans; they regularly deal in the stuff), one was a mammoth poaching ring (we passed it up because of the angry giants trashing the place) and one was a veritable treasure trove of, well, treasure.

First off, there's a magical tome that seems to suggest it can teach someone to turn iron into silver through the process of ... convincing reality itself that the iron is actually silver? It sounds like absolute gibberish to me, but Lucien wants to have a look at it.

There was a clearly powerful, magical ring that looks like something a collector might be interested in, and a journal describing a 'book of wonders,' buried beneath the camp.

The camp itself encircled something its previous owners called the 'lunar forge,' a large forge that apparently can turn out unique magical relics that react to the presence of the moons. Hence, 'lunar forge.' Some of the finished products were being held by the bandits still; I mean to donate these as part of a show of good faith to Auryen.

A lot of the things that I've found in my travels - things I keep on me as souvenirs or just because they seem particularly unique - would probably do best in a museum.

I just ... I don't have that much use for personal wealth. I spend so much time on the move that I can't afford to carry all this shit around in the first place.

So, I figure I'll talk to this Auryen fellow myself and make sure he's someone worth working with. If not, I'll nick back the things I've already donated to his cause, and we'll call our business finished.

I'm hopeful, though.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


\---Heartfire, 28th, 4E 201---

  


It's not often we get to sit around doing nothing all day, but that was today - a long, lazy carriage ride north to Solitude.

Lucien spent most of the day with his nose in that transmutation book. It still seems like gibberish to me, but he says it's really opening his eyes on the principles of alteration magic.

Honestly I just like watching the way his face lights up as he talks. He's really interested in this stuff, I can tell.

When he said he'd turned his brain into a pretzel trying to understand it all, we switched gears, and I tried to help him understand how you can sort of just feel when a lock's going to give. That's the big thing about picking locks; you can't see what's going on in there unless it's a specially made practice lock, so you sort of have to feel for when the tumblers want to move, and when they don't.

I think it all sort of flew over Lucien's head, but he looked happy enough to pay attention to me.

Serana seems content to listen - she says that she spent so long locked up that just hearing us talk was enough for her.

Apparently the silence was deafening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently the trick to alteration magic is convincing reality itself that x = y even though x does not in any way, shape, or form equal y.


	13. The Soul Cairn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In and out, because seriously, fuck the Soul Cairn.

**\---Heartfire, 29th, 4E 201---**

Lucien's back at the castle and Meeko's waiting here, but it occurred to me that I'd forgotten to write -

And if I don't jot down my thoughts now, I might never get a chance.

Firstly, Auryen was remarkably helpful and seemed absolutely flabbergasted at the array of junk I'd collected over the last couple of months. Apparently my - let's call it a hoarding habit - might pay off, with the right kind of curator to oversee things.

Then again, some pieces are actually priceless. I can see where he'd be impressed.

If I do meet my end here, Auryen is entitled to the things I donated; I had little use for them in life and certainly won't be using them now. Hopefully he can find a better relic hunter than I was.

Secondly, we finally returned to Volkihar Castle. Harkon was annoyed that it took so long for us to return, but put on his most understanding face; he wanted to hear what the moth priest had to say about the scroll. Everybody wanted to hear that, even the moth priest himself.

So, Serana commanded this 'Dexion' fellow to go ahead and read the thing, which he did. The prophecy centers around a bow, which immediately piqued my interest. Known as Auriel's Bow, it apparently has something to do with 'mingling day and night' when the dragons return once more to this world.

The rest of the prophecy is to be found in two other Elder Scrolls - one speaks of the power of the ancient blood, while the other is related to the coming of the dragons. Apparently, Serana's mother stole away with the 'Blood' scroll, while the other was lost to the Dwemer.

I wonder that 'Harkon's Scrolls - for I still don't believe anyone can truly own them - didn't vanish the way the Scrolls of White-Gold Tower did.

Is it merely that the Imperial City was no longer safe?

Or is it something else?

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**\---Heartfire, 30th, 4E 201---**

I'm not dead, at least.

Well. You know. Not completely. I'm no more dead than I was when I wrote that last entry, let's say.

So. The Soul Cairn.

Valerica, Serana's mother, fled to the Soul Cairn in order to hide herself - and more importantly, her blood - away from Harkon. She believes he means to find Auriel's bow, then murder either his wife or his daughter, in order to taint the whole weapon with their blood. Then, shoot the sun with the tainted weapon (?!) and end the Tyranny of the Sun over vampirekind.

Now, just to recap, without the sun, everything dies. Mortals aren't going to stand for that. I'm not going to stand for that.

But prophecies are meant to be completed, so Serana means to find some other way to fulfill the words of prophecy without ending the world. Valerica was content to put it off until the end of days, herself.

I feel bad for Serana. Her father's driven by one goal only, willing to sacrifice anyone and anything to have his way, and her mother's no better. That can't feel good to be caught in the middle of - two power-mad people tearing their daughter in half between them?

No. I mean to try and protect her from them, however I can.

Lucien, for his part, has proven to be a lot more reckless than I gave him credit for. He begged me to let him see the Elder Scroll, now that we've collected it, because he wanted to see what he'd see.

He was sure he'd see something, and whatever it was, it'd be worth madness or blindness or both. I suppose I didn't give him enough credit.

Regardless, he says he didn't see anything to speak of, just a pattern of constellations. Frankly, I think he's lucky - I'm just - I can't believe he'd do that! I thought, when he asked me to see the damned thing, he meant to hold it, marvel at it - not like, actually try to read it!

I made him promise never to do anything that stupid again. He agreed, but he looked a bit disheartened by the scolding.

Gods, why are men such idiots?

On a slightly better note, I beat up a dragon. Well, we beat up a dragon.

Supposedly, he couldn't be defeated by any mortal weapons, or more accurately, he can no longer be killed. His soul is part of the Soul Cairn, now, and he serves as its Keeper, as surely as any of the dead that walk the empty ruins of the place. It's a depressing, empty plain, dotted with dead plants and jagged, ruined structures that don't quite resemble buildings of any real purpose.

It's like something had the idea of what a building was, but not what was meant to go inside of it?

Anyway, Serana and I were able to defeat this Durnehviir, after which, he named me Qahnaarin, 'vanquisher,' and praised me for freeing him from the Ideal Masters - the caretakers of the Soul Cairn, ancient monstrosities that no longer require a corporeal form. Instead, they feast upon pure souls that are sent to them by aspiring necromancers, through the presence of enormous purple crystals. They don't discriminate between living, unliving, and the dead.

I can only imagine how long he roamed the Soul Cairn, having bits of himself flayed away by unseen hands. It's a horrifying thought, really.

Durnehviir has asked that I speak his name to the sky, somewhere in Tamriel, that I might summon him forth and grant him a moment's respite from the Soul Cairn, and frankly, I mean to try. He doesn't seem hostile anymore, and it's an easy enough kindness to perform.

But not in town. That seems like a recipe for disaster, introducing an undead dragon to the guards of any of the holds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone should really overhaul the Soul Cairn.
> 
> In other news, if it feels like an entry was missed, that's because Nox (and I) forgot to write the entry for the day before the Soul Cairn.


	14. On Morality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nox does a very bad thing.

**\---Frostfall, 1st, 4E 201---**

I don't ...

Do you ever realize after the fact that you've maybe done something wrong?

I don't like it.

So, to start out with, I was given a particular task to advance the interests of the Volkihar as a whole. To throw suspicion and distrust on the Dawnguard, I was to dress in their armor and commit a high-profile murder in the streets of Solitude, then plant an incriminating letter on the deceased's body.

Easy enough, right?

I mean, it goes against the code, being a thief and all. 'Keep your blade clean.'

And I guess it's - well, conventionally immoral?

I had no particular problems with the task at hand - Oblivion, but I know the fine and can afford it several times over. Legally speaking, there's nothing that the guard can do. Officially, it wasn't even me, just a random member of the Dawnguard.

So I convinced a woman, Endarie, to come with me outside her store. She was a real hagraven of a woman, always picking at everyone she came across. I didn't figure she'd be particularly well-liked anyway, but she's a wealthy and prominent member of Solitude society.

I slit her throat in broad daylight. She didn't even have time to protest.

Then I saw Lucien's expression of horror.

Then the guards attacked. They seemed to be under the impression I meant to actually resist arrest - it was a whole thing. By the time it was resolved, Serana had put an ice spike through a guard's chest.

It only cost two thousand gold pieces to secure our freedom. That's a small, small fraction of my personal wealth now.

Lucien is still sort of dealing with it. 'You murdered her!'

'It was a job.'

He frowned, at that. 'Do you even care?'

'How is this any different from anyone else we've had to kill? They were people, too.'

I think that set off an existential crisis. He hasn't talked to me since then, and I don't know what to say to him. I just -

It doesn't matter to me, but it clearly bothers him.

Serana says this is all sort of a problem with keeping regular mortals around; they don't see things the way we do.

I asked her if it was just the vampirism; I've never really cared?

She sort of just shrugged.

Anyway so I tried to talk to Lucien again, after that, to try and get him to calm down. I could feel the way something shifted in him when he met my eyes, and I could tell something changed.

'I don't want to talk about it,' he said, and his voice sounded hollow.

I tried to smile. 'We don't have to talk about it.'

'Okay.'

I think - I think I did something to his mind.

I just wanted it to be okay. I just want us to be okay.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**\---Frostfall, 2nd, 4E 201---**

Lucien seems -

He doesn't seem all that different, but there's something slightly off.

I don't know. Maybe I'm imagining it.

We returned to Volkihar Keep in order to report my success. Faren Sadri was pleased with what I did, but not pleased enough to give me a suitable reward.

Fucker.

Then again, I suppose he thinks that I'm working my way up through the court's hierarchy. Fucking politics. I don't care about politics. Power comes in various forms, and political power is absolutely one of them. I just. Don't. Care.

People bore me, you know?

Most people, anyway.

So on our way back to Solitude, we found our way to Rimerock Barrow. Barbas hasn't seemed to mind us taking our sweet time, but at the same time, it's best not to piss off a Daedra. We killed the original owner of the Rueful Axe (another existential crisis for Lucien, I suppose), and claimed it for ourselves.

So we're back in Solitude, and then tomorrow we'll head south.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**\---Frostfall, 3rd, 4E 201---**

I feel like Lucien knows something's wrong, but by the very nature of the thing, he can't really grasp what it is that's gone awry.

Gods all help me, I don't know what to do.

I asked Serana if it was possible to break the compulsion by any other means - I don't want to take that choice away from him. I don't want him to become a monster like me.

Serana says there's been some cases - thralls left idle for too long, thralls who manage to break their own compulsions - so it's possible, but I can't just impose my will upon him any time we have a disagreement, or it'll just reinforce the compulsion - and reduce him as a person.

As it is, he seems - pliant. Agreeable. Not so different from how he used to be, but - there's just something wrong. Maybe I can only tell because I know what I did to him.

I should just - I should leave him alone. I don't want to, but I'm terrified that I'll hurt him worse.

The trip to Whiterun was uneventful enough; we took a carriage south and despite the beating sunlight, it wasn't so bad. But it was quieter than it should have been. He didn't sing at all, and he didn't ask any questions. He just stared off into space for most of it, and I let myself think about how fucking awful I am. I hurt him, and I don't even know how to put it right.

Gods, what have I done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She didn't mean it.


	15. Swift Forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nox is Dovahkiin, and Dawnbreaker doesn't care.

**\---Frostfall, 4th, 4E 201---**

'I am blinded by your radiance,' he said to me, and I almost broke down crying.

That's not him. That's not his words, that's the stupid fucking compulsion.

Today was kind of a lot.

I started the day by checking up on Farengar. Truthfully, I meant to rifle through his spell tomes to see if he had anything about mental magic, anything in the illusion school that might help break a compulsion.

I didn't get the chance to ask.

Irileth, Jarl Balgruuf's housecarl, burst into the room to demand Farengar's presence. Apparently, a dragon had been sighted nearby, and it was just good timing that I was there, as well, because wouldn't you know it, but the Jarl would want to speak to me, too.

That's where the fun begins.

See, as the only one who's even seen a dragon, I got conscripted for the dragonslaying squad.

Lucien managed to squeak out his concerns - it sounds fascinating, but equally, terrifying. He was afraid he'd be roasted alive.

I did my best to reassure him, all the while hoping that I wasn't accidentally forcing my will upon him. He did seem to relax, at least, though I'm not entirely sure if it was my words or something else.

Gods all help me.

Serana seemed certain we could pull it off - we took down Durnehviir, after all.

She was right, too. A few well-placed arrows to the great beast's wing joints and he came crashing to the earth, a pile of ill-assembled bones.

'We did it! We actually did it!' Lucien was exuberant. He babbled on about the scholarly merits of being able to study a dragon up close and begged me for an hour or so to study the thing's deceased body. I agreed readily enough - that was sounding more like my friend, the excitable scholar - and we made our way down from the tower to investigate the great beast's body.

Light shone forth, and everyone backed away - except for me. I put my hand out, reaching for that light, knowing it was mine to take -

\- it pushed forward, surging into me, crashing against my bones. I staggered under the weight of Mir-mul-nir's soul, the power of his Voice, and for a moment, I felt the very real threat that he would overtake me.

I refused. With all my might and all my will I refused him, and our minds clashed, our souls grappling one another for dominance. It was exhausting; it felt like hours despite only taking moments.

In the end, I was victorious.

And that's when Lucien spoke, and his awestruck tones reminded me of what I'd done, and now it's damn near midnight and I can't ignore the fact that I'm a fucking monster for hurting my friend.

Jarl Balgruuf has granted me the title of Thane of Whiterun, and assigned a woman, Lydia, as my personal housecarl. I'm honored, I suppose, though in the back of my mind all I can think is 'what if I break her, too?'

She says she's sworn to my service, and she means to guard me - and all that I own - with her life. I don't know that I can handle that right now.

I don't know if I can have her blood on my hands.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**\---Frostfall, 5th, 4E 201---**

'Don't be so hard on yourself.'

Thanks, Barbas. I appreciate it.

So, upon arriving back at Whiterun last night, we were nearly bowled over by a voice - voices - calling out. 'Dovahkiin!' It was alarming, if only because the force of it nearly knocked me - at least - prone.

Apparently, that was the voice of the 'Graybeards,' old monks who live in seclusion on the slopes of the tallest mountain in Skyrim. Their monastery is known as High Hrothgar.

Conveniently, the path up the mountain starts in Ivarstead, which meant we could pass through the remains of Helgen, and on our way through the mountain pass, we were able to stop in Haemar's Shame, the old shrine to Clavicus Vile.

The bastard wanted to give me the axe - in exchange for murdering Barbas.

Here's the thing. I use bows. Nobody in our little party uses two-handed weapons, much less axes specifically. Moreover, Barbas has been as faithful and loyal a friend as anyone could want.

So, ah - no. No deal.

Clavicus wasn't particularly pleased with that, but he still granted me his boon, an intimidating sort of mask that I have no intention of actually wearing. I suppose that's another feather in Auryen's cap.

'What would you have done, if he'd offered something useful?'

I was surprised that Lucien had the presence of mind to actually ask the question, but it was an easy one to answer. The answer would still be no, because Barbas was as much a friend as Meeko, and I would kill anyone who hurt Meeko.

Lucien fell silent, thinking that over.

We're in Ivarstead, now, and - I don't know. I feel something like hope.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**\---Frostfall, 6th, 4E 201---**

This morning got off to an ... auspicious start.

Okay, in honesty it went better than I could have hoped, but I still woke up with a sword pressed to my throat, sizzling my skin.

Lucien was wielding it, and his hands were shaking as he pressed in. Dawnbreaker was happy to burn the skin of an unliving monster.

'Lucien?' He pulled back, like he was the one who'd been burned, and that's when things sort of came together for me. 'You're all right!'

That was - probably not the response he'd been expecting. 'What did you do to me? What ... '

'I didn't mean it,' I started. The weakest excuse in the book, but an honest one. 'I didn't mean any of it, but you - and I - I didn't mean it - '

He held Dawnbreaker between us, waving it gently in my direction. 'Was any of it - were we - was it all a lie, then?'

'No!' I was aghast at that. I still am. The implication - 'I - you’re my friend, I - I care about you - I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.’

He was still frowning when I said that. 'How could you?'

'It was an accident -'

He waved the sword with one hand, his free hand gesturing wildly to silence me. 'Yes, yes, you made a mistake - but, how? How did you do it?'

'All vampires have a certain amount of sway over mortalkind,' Serana butted in with amusement. How long had she been watching?

Did she not think to intervene when Lucien was trying to kill me?

'So - what, she just ... batted her eyelashes at me?'

Serana laughed at that. 'Something like that. Vampires have access to a natural wellspring of charisma; we can mesmerize our prey so that they let us do whatever we want. And, yes, it can happen unintentionally.'

Lydia entered the room, then, still drying out her hair; she'd taken the opportunity to wash up, apparently. 'Did something happen?'

'No,' we all agreed in chorus.

I'm not ready to explain any of that to my housecarl. We've literally only just met, and frankly, I don't know her well enough to know what her response will be. She's sworn to my service, yes, but how far does that really go?

So, after all of that happened, right, there was still the mountain to deal with. High Hrothgar is nearly at the peak of the Throat of the World, the tallest mountain in Skyrim, and it's a miserable climb the whole way up. I got to pet a bear, at least, though Lucien looked like he was about ready to piss himself. 'They're docile enough if you don't fuck with them,' I explained, ruffling my fingers through the old fellow's fur.

I love animals. Mostly, they like me, too.

We gave the frost trolls on the path a wide berth, for the most part, and the other people, too. I didn't feel like talking, so much - and not just because my throat still burned from the cut Lucien had given me.

Don't get me wrong - the evidence of his will resurfacing is worth the minor discomfort!

It just - does hurt a little bit.

The monastery is impressive, a huge masterpiece of stoneworking that's perched near the apex of the mountain. It's far too big for just the four of the Graybeards who meditate there, but then, any more, and they'd have to actually do something with themselves in order to sustain their way of life.

As it stands, they're gifted food and drink from the locals in exchange for fuck-all.

I don't know. As someone who used to have to beg, borrow, and steal just to make ends meet - it bothers me, a little, to know that these wizened old prunes live comfortably on the charity that nobody could spare two innocent children.

Maybe I'm just bitter. The Graybeards themselves seem nice enough, and they were happy to answer any questions I had, once I proved that I was, indeed, Dragonborn.

Gods, that's just - it's insane to think about.

I haven't really been thinking about it, truthfully. It's one too many things to try and wrap my head around right now, the idea that I'm some sort of prophesied hero of the ages.

Somehow I doubt that anyone expected someone like me when they wrote that prophecy. To say the least.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**\---Frostfall, 8th, 4E 201---**

Now that he's got his wits back about him, Lucien is just as eager as I am to try and figure out some way to shield his mind from further tampering. 'What if someone tries to turn me against you?'

My heart melted a little bit at that.

'I just don't want to hurt you again,' I confessed.

He looked up and over and gods, his face is so soft and innocent when he's preoccupied, you know? He's - cute. 'What? Oh. Yes, of course, that's bad, too.'

I ... suppose that means all is forgiven?

Or maybe he's not completely ... no. I'd rather not think about that.

So we made it back to Whiterun. The Graybeards have another task for us - in order to prove my worthiness as Dragonborn (I guess), they're sending us to the ancient fane of Ustengrav, an old crypt north of Morthal. Apparently, if I remain true to the Way of the Voice, I'll succeed.

Does that mean it's going to take some kind of Shout to bypass the traps? I suspect it does.

Gods. I probably shouldn't do anything important, distracted as I am. I keep looking over at Lucien and just - wondering. Is he really back to normal? I didn't figure Lucien would ever actually attack me - is that normal?

I can't say I haven't thought about returning to that damned old ruin, finishing off my old master.

Maybe we ought to do that.

At some point, anyway.

I just ... I wasn't lying. I do care about him. Rather a lot, actually. And it hurts, to know I've hurt him. But I can't exactly go back and undo it, either.

Much as I want to.

Tonight, Lucien asked me about the woman I killed. More accurately -

'So, who all wouldn't you kill?' It seemed like an idle question, but given what sparked off this whole debacle -

I sort of just shrugged. 'You, Serana. Meeko. Jarl Balgruuf. Probably Lydia. My brother, Ronthil. Barbas. Why?'

'That's ... a remarkably short list. I suppose I'm honored my name is on it!'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It bears repeating that Nox is not a great person. She's somewhere in the neutral range, at best.


	16. Morthal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are vampires. Of course.

**\---Frostfall, 8th, 4E 201---**

The trip to Morthal was cold, wet, but thankfully uneventful. Apparently, this 'Ustengrav' is just north of the city - if you could call it a city.

Morthal is more of a soggy pit with buildings laid on it than what one could truly call a 'city.'

I don't know. Comparing Skyrim's holds to the Imperial City is a little unfair, I suppose. Maybe I should just count myself lucky that they have anything approaching civilization here in the untamed north!

Lucien continues to spend his time in a deeply distracted reverie, so I continue to spend my time worrying after him. He's been forgetting to eat, even!

Serana thinks it's 'cute,' how I fuss after him, and Lydia ....

I still can't get a proper bead on Lydia. She doesn't even bitch about the weather! It's hard to figure someone out when they just ... don't talk.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**\---Frostfall, 9th, 4E 201---**

I owe Lydia my life.

She says it's just part of her job, but still ....

So, let me recap.

We arrived in Morthal last night. It's not much of a city, but it's still the last stretch of civilization before Ustengrav, so we stopped over.

One of the tavern wenches accosted me as I entered the inn, red eyes fixed on mine, fangs flashing. 'I know you for what you are,' she hissed. 'Morthal is ours. Understand?' I raised an eyebrow at that, but kept calm and just kind of spread my arms in an attempt at a placating gesture. She backed off after just a moment of this, saying that we must act as though nothing happened, lest the sheep suspect the wolves.

As though she hadn't made enough of a fuss for the both of us. Lydia asked me what that was about and I lied, saying I didn't really know.

I knew this 'Alva' for what she was, too.

That's her name, Alva. As far as the mortals know, she's just a pretty little thing who's got half the men in town wrapped around her little finger - most notoriously of all, a man named Hroggar.

See, this fellow is implicated in setting a house fire that killed his wife and child, and worse, he pledged himself to Alva before the ashes had even cooled.

It's obvious to me she's enthralled him - but without knowing what I know, without having done what I've done - I can see why the mortals don't understand it. Without having witnessed firsthand how completely a vampire can twist a mortal around - without knowing Alva is a vampire in the first place - but there's no proof, not yet.

'Sift through the ashes others are too fearful to touch. See what they tell you.'

Those eyes. Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone fixed me with a contemplative stare, but her thoughts about me remained locked behind her teeth. Instead, she encouraged me to investigate this house fire. Find out whether Hroggar is innocent or guilty, find out the true cause - and deliver proof.

So we did some leg-work. Sifted through the ashes, as directed - and met a ghost.

Helgi, Hroggar's daughter, isn't yet ready to depart the world of the living. She's lingered on as a ghost, and if I had to guess, I'd say she's looking for someone to put her soul to rest. 'The other one' is looking for her, they're playing 'hide and seek,' but if I find the girl first, she'll tell me who set the fire, and why.

So we set up near the graveyard, determined to wait out the sun.

That's when it happened.

Well. A couple hours into our vigil, rather, Lucien yelped. 'Nox! Help! I can't stop it!' His hand reached for Dawnbreaker, and before he could even draw the blade, Lydia had planted herself between him and me. I could barely watch as the Daedric weapon clashed against Lydia's shield, the blade was so bright. They fought briefly, but Lucien wasn't a particularly good swordsman, and Lydia swiftly disarmed him. He held his right hand with his left, as though he'd been burned by the weapon.

'I don't know what came over me,' he said, but I had an idea. Meridia is said to hate the undead in all their forms, and Dawnbreaker is her blade.

Lydia retrieved the weapon from the snow without comment, shielding her hand with a rag. Lucien handed over the scabbard. 'You keep it.' She nodded, simply, and affixed it to her belt.

So that was that. Lucien keeps staring at his hand as though it's going to yield up answers, Lydia has taken up a place beside the open grave, and now ... now we wait, I suppose.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**\---Frostfall, 10th, 4E 201---**

Well! Today was exciting, all told.

So, we found Helgi's coffin easily enough, and we set up a vigil outside, waiting for dark as the girl's spirit had requested.

A vampire emerged from the shadows. Startled to see us, she hissed, then went to attack - and Lydia summarily cleaved her in half with Dawnbreaker.

'Remind me not to get on your bad side.' Lydia actually cracked a smile at that. I think I'm winning her over.

Helgi informed us of the rest of the tale. Laelette was ordered to burn the house, but she didn't want to kill anyone there. She tried to turn the girl, but failed.

Ordered. Because of course.

A man had witnessed the whole debacle, and came up to us, shouting. 'You killed her! My poor Laelette!'

Thinking fast, I explained that we were with the Dawnguard, and she was a vampire - he should inspect the ashes if he didn't believe me. He gasped, horrorstruck, as he sifted through the ashes and found the fanged skull.

Apparently, as it turns out? Laelette had begun spending a lot of time with Alva, right before she disappeared.

'You can't prove it to the Jarl!'

And he was right. Without damning evidence - or without damning myself as evidence - I couldn't persuade anyone of her guilt. Fortunately, I didn't have to even try to figure out a good story. Alva rushed me, using that unnatural speed and strength to pin me against the wall of a house. 'What are you doing?!' She hissed at me. I held a hand up to stop Lydia for just a moment. 'You'll ruin everything! Why?'

I had to think about it for a moment. Why was I here, helping these mortals with their little infestation?

Ultimately, I think it's a fundamental problem I have with vampiric society, such as it is. I still see mortals as people, rather than pawns. I believe in free will, and I think depriving someone of that is honestly worse than death.

I didn't tell Alva any of that. I simply sighed, shrugged, and looked to Lydia. Alva followed my gaze - and promptly got a flaming sword through the skull.

We sifted through the ashes. Serana placated the guard with the same lie - we were with the Dawnguard - and the fact that Alva was a vampire and had threatened my life - which was true.

Lydia looked to me, appraisingly. 'Why  _ are _ we helping here?' She repeated Alva's question.

This time, I answered truthfully. 'No one should be made to suffer that fate.' I looked to Lucien, and I couldn't quite keep the guilt from my expression. 'Nobody,' I repeated, 'should have to serve the one who slaughtered their family. No one should be made a slave - and worse than enslaving the body is ensnaring the mind.'

I wish I'd been quite so eloquent when speaking aloud, but I think I got the point across anyway. Lydia considered my response - honestly, I think she's still thinking it over. I keep catching her looking at me.

So. Alva had a key to her house on her person, and Serana asked the guard oh-so-politely - with, I suspect, a tiny touch of vampiric charm - where Alva's home was. We were, after all, with the Dawnguard, and we suspected something larger was going on.

He agreed readily enough, and pointed the way.

I mentioned before that Hroggar was Alva's thrall. She'd kept him to guard her home during the daylight hours, because nobody can protect themselves when they sleep, after all.

When the door opened - and it wasn't Alva who entered - he threw himself at us in a rage. The guardsman, startled, impaled him, and only as Hroggar stared down at the blade in his chest did he seem to regain his senses. 'Why ... ?'

And then he collapsed.

It's probably for the best. He didn't have time to truly register what he'd been a party to - he likely never truly grieved his family's loss before being reunited with them. Poor bastard.

Like most people, Alva kept a journal. She'd once been a pretty - but unassuming - young maiden, dreamily writing about how she wanted to be swept off her feet. And then someone  _ did _ sweep her off her feet - a vampire lord, in fact, who’d shown her the true colors of night. The true red of blood.

She was relatively young, as vampires go. Not quite as young as I am, but still fresh. Her master, Movarth, was pulling the strings.

When Serana explained all this to Jarl Ravencrone, the woman cursed Alva for the bitch she is. She peered at us once more. 'I see you for what you are, and yet your offer of aid is true. What I cannot see is why? Why aid Morthal in our time of need?'

I stepped forward then. I didn't know why Serana was helping out - she didn't owe these people anything - but I somehow got the feeling my answer would be the better one for the Jarl's purposes.

'My Jarl - ' It's best to reason with the nobility while using their titles.

Usually. Her eyes snapped to me, and the intensity of her gaze was withering.

I explained again. Morthal's people are people, after all. Men and mer deserve to direct their own fates - with their wills and minds intact. These vampires won't have that; they want to make pliant slaves of the town, just as Alva did Hroggar.

'Hmph. An admirable sentiment,' she replied. 'You'll find a group of our strongest warriors gathered outside. They want to kill the vampire menace.' She raised an eyebrow at Serana and me in turn, a slight, knowing smirk on her features. 'I'll see you at dawn.'

It was ... laughably pathetic, the entire affair.

Firstly, the townsfolk were spineless. They talked a big talk - 'Kill the vampire!' they shouted, waving their torches dangerously close to my face - but once we arrived at the vampires' den, they cowered at the bloodstains and the skulls piled outside.

Only Thonnir, the one who'd lost his wife, had any balls, but I politely turned him away. He wasn't a fighting man, he admitted, but he was sure we would see vengeance done in his stead.

The five of us - Lucien, Lydia, Meeko, Serana, and me - slipped into the vampires' den together.

It was - almost fun? We found the bulk of the vampires gathered around a banquet table. At the center of the table was a young man, clearly in the throes of ecstasy from the vampires' repeated bites. At the head of the table was a man I marked as the leader. It was easy to put an arrow straight between his eyes. His head snapped back, and his body disintegrated to ash.

The others jumped to their feet. One after another, I took them out - vampires, thralls, and all.

Lucien let out a low whistle as the last of the vampires collapsed into a pile of ashy bones. It was done. We picked over the bones - well, I picked over the bones - for anything useful (A daedric sword! An actual daedric sword! That isn't Dawnbreaker!) - and now we've returned to Morthal for the night.

I asked Serana why she chose to help, and her answer was - well - different from mine.

'People like this? Draw attention to all vampires.' She paused, looking distant. 'That's why Mother doesn't want Father to complete the prophecy his way, you know? We work best in the shadows.'

It's ... well, practical, I suppose.

So. Tomorrow, we meet with Jarl Ravencrone once more - and then it's off to Ustengrav.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah I've been so busy writing this thing that I forgot to actually post any of it. WHOOPS.


	17. Ustengrav

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, yeet.

**\---Frostfall, 10th, 4E 201---**

'So it's done. I didn't think you could do it, but you did. If only more people acted like you.' Jarl Ravencrone seemed amused. 'You'll find what you seek in the swamps to the north. But then, you already knew that much.'

She warned us there would be danger, but I didn't anticipate just how much! I'm not sure what the ancient Nords had against me, specifically, but they can fuck themselves right off, all the same.

So firstly, Ustengrav is a burial pit in the middle of Morthal's frozen swamplands, a miserable slog north from the city that left even Lydia in a notably sour mood.

Then came the looters - a handful of necromancers who'd decided to raid the old tomb for what wealth it held. Okay, that one I can't blame on the ancients, but they still wielded fire magic, and they still woke the ancient dead.

The thing about necromancers is that they're rarely willing to listen to reason.

The thing about the undead is you can't just aim for center mass and hope for the best. It's headshots all the way down, because zombies don't feel pain. They don't need functioning lungs. Their hearts don't pump blood.

(Vampires, too, can survive these inconveniences, mostly.)

Snap the zombie's neck, lop off its head, or burn it to ash - that's how you deal with the walking dead. And it's a nuisance, as an archer, like I mentioned.

Fortunately, I've got allies, but still. The ancients didn't know that.

Finally came the fucking traps. My cape got singed by the flames spewing forth from the ground when I stepped on the trigger, and that was a bit too close for comfort. The others were able to carefully follow my lead - even Lucien! I'm proud of how far he's come. He might not be graceful or elegant, but he managed to follow my footsteps exactly, without setting off any further traps at all.

Lydia, on the other hand,  _ was _ both graceful and elegant, two qualities that I hadn't expected from someone who preferred plate armor - and which make her all the more lethal on the battlefield. She carried Meeko across without incident, a feat that left me rather impressed.

Then came Serana's turn. She looked at me, looked at the floor traps, then looked at me again as though I was mad.

Serana, it turns out, has a healthy respect for flame. She transformed herself, assuming the mantle of the vampire lord.

Lucien took a step back, startled. Lydia inhaled sharply, but didn't comment at first, as Serana flew over the traps using spindly, almost skeletal wings that should not have been able to carry her in flight.

I made a note of how Lydia reached for Dawnbreaker, but luckily, she decided against whatever action she'd thought to take. That's - good. I think.

It's not a problem anymore, but at the time, it chilled me to the bone.

'Let's go,' Serana said, offering no room for questions.

And so we did.

There was another word wall, another monument to a memory long past. I could only make out one word from the text - Feim. The word rattled in my head, slotting into place after a time. Feim - Fade - being both less and more than mortal. I don't fully comprehend it yet, but it's there, gnawing at me.

When we finally came upon the burial tomb, it was something of a relief.

I felt ... I don't know.

I think, perhaps, that my nature leaves me ... sensitive, to holy things. The magic in the horn speaks of wind and rain, the lion and the lamb and all living creatures.

The fury of the storm did not welcome me, exactly, and my hand tingles with the promise of lightning any time I touch the damned horn with bare skin.

But I collected it, and I mean to carry it back to the Graybeards myself.

Speaking of relics that shouldn't be touched bare-handed ...

So we returned to Morthal, and caught a ferry across the bay to Solitude. After Serana's little display, I wanted nothing more to do with Dawnbreaker, and how better to deal with the blade than to give it to Auryen, to have it sealed away in his little gallery?

I asked him how he managed it.

The specifics flew over my head, but Lucien followed along with rapt fascination and even Serana seemed impressed. 'So basically,' she said, 'Until and unless you release them, these artifacts are trapped between realms. They aren't really here, nor are they really in Oblivion. Is that right?'

He beamed at her. 'Yes, yes, exactly so.'

The conversation rolled along without me. There was a lot of magical theory involved, but nothing I had any particular interest in.

What mattered to me? Dawnbreaker wouldn't be bothering me ever again.

I rapped my knuckles on the wall of light between myself and the blade. It felt as real and solid as a glass display, and far less fragile.

Bless that mer. He's doing important work, here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit short, but the next bits don't quite fit together. -thumbsup-

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
